


Off the Beaten Path

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Ghost Hunters, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael inherited the old house from the crazy side of his family.“Harsh.”He snorts and looks to the side where he can just makes out the hazy outline of a human figure. It wavers, shifting in and out of focus and the spot it occupies looks like someone went into a photo editing program and went to town on the blur filter. Felt like it needed more pizzazz and tossed in some film grain for the hell of it.“Fuck off,” he says, turning back to the idiot in the backward baseball cap who doesn’t know the half of it.





	Off the Beaten Path

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before they announced Achievement Haunters, so, you know. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Michael inherited the old house from the crazy side of his family.

“Harsh.”

He snorts and looks to the side where he can just makes out the hazy outline of a human figure. It wavers, shifting in and out of focus and the spot it occupies looks like someone went into a photo editing program and went to town on the blur filter. Felt like it needed more pizzazz and tossed in some film grain for the hell of it.

“Fuck off,” he says, turning back to the idiot in the backward baseball cap who doesn’t know the half of it.

It’s a nice house though. Turn of the century two-story building built on several acres of land butting up against a sprawling forest.

Quiet, peaceful, and fucking haunted.

These lonely spirits wandering the mortal plane because they can’t seem to find their way to the next world or some bullshit. 

Fucking annoying about it, too.

The younger ones walking the halls at night, making unearthly noises and knocking shit over like a bunch of cats. 

The older ones are content to drift along in silence unless there’s something they want. 

In that case, Michael can expect a ghostly face peeking through the shower curtains to ask him if he could make them toast because they miss the smell. A freezing presence at the side of his bed at night wondering if it would be too much trouble for him to turn the radio on to a talk show, and on and on.

They’re the harmless kind for the most part. Just lonely and tired of being forgotten, like to have someone acknowledge their existence, and unfortunately for them, that someone happens to be Michael.

They tend to be indistinct blurs at the edge of his vision. Some look like ghostly – fucking _ha_ \- versions of normal people. 

Most of them prefer to manifest the way they looked in life. Whole and unmarred by the manner of their death, and others just don’t care enough to try. Shamble along with their injuries on display, no doubt as to the method of their death. Something bout the land here that draws them in, offers them peace they can’t find anywhere else until they move on or fade away.

“Well, I mean,” the guy - Ryan? - apparently isn’t going to let this go. “That’s a harsh thing to say, isn’t it?”

The house was converted into a bed and breakfast years ago. This curious thing a few miles out from the nearby town, and it sees a steady flow of guests around the year. Tourists and people passing through who don’t quite know where they’re going as long as it’s as far away from where they started as they can get.

And, of course, fucking ghost hunters like Ryan and his buddies.

Team of idiots with fancy little cameras and gadgets and completely unaware of the ghosts around them.

Babbling nonsense as they check for readings, hold out their devices meant to help them communicate with ghosts by scanning through radio stations or some bullshit.

Michael’s seen it all before, people who think of ghost hunting as a hobby. Something they do when they have vacation time saved up and nowhere else to go. The ones who believe in things like ghosts and the supernatural, want to make a living of of it. 

Have themselves a following on the internet because they’ve managed to hit that sweet spot between unnecessarily serious and genuinely entertaining. Present their research and findings in a way that isn’t mildly condescending or mocking, and it’s strangely refreshing.

“Look, buddy,” Michael says, wondering what Ryan would do if he knew little Addison over there is pulling faces at him. “I love my family, okay? But there are some goddamned loonies in the family tree. I’m sure you’ll figure it out for yourself when you look into things because it’s not a secret.”

Several members of his family have been committed in the past. Ones from the side of the family that passed on their ability to see spirits on to Michael. Had him thinking there was something seriously wrong with him for the longest time before his dad sent him to stay with his grandmother for the summer when he was a kid.

It made Michael’s life growing up interesting, to be sure. His grandmother watching him to see if his imaginary friends when he was a kid might be more than that. 

Ready to swoop in the moment he showed signs of noticing the creepy cat that phased through walls at her house. 

Pale gray tabby with a sweet meow and eyes that glowed even when there wasn’t a light on it. (And if you looked a little closer you could see its skeleton just beneath the pattern of its fur.)

Ryan frowns, taking notes in the notepad he’s carrying. Not a phone or a tablet, but an honest to God notepad.

“It, uh,” he says, sheepish note to his voice when he notices the look Michael’s giving him. “The ghosts mess with the electronics.”

That’s a good point, Michael supposes. 

It took some time before he was able to strike a truce with the ghosts that inhabit the house and its grounds. Bargained with them to leave his gaming setup and other electronics alone if he kept them in one room. Gave them the rest of the place to roam to their heart’s content.

There were still incidents here and there, but he wasn’t making the drive out to the nearby town to replace things on a monthly basis anymore. Giving the store employee and helpless shrug like he didn’t know why they all happened to mysteriously break on him the same way each time.

“Alright,” Michael says, and looks over to where one of Ryan’s friends is fussing with a camera.

Ryan clears his throat and scurries away, and Michael has no idea what to make of it, so he gives Addison a look when she eyes the camera thoughtfully.

“Don’t fucking do it,” he warns, taking care to pitch his voice too low to be overheard by the ghost hunters. “They’ll be gone by the end of the week anyway.”

Addison pouts at him. All big pale eyes and downturned mouth and poor little thing, but she’s been haunting this place for decades. A downright terror when ghost hunters show up, running amok with the others who get a kick out of fucking with the poor bastards.

“Seriously,” Michael says, and looks over to where Ryan and his friend are checking the camera over and talking quietly. “Let them have their fun.”

Addison sighs, and when Michael looks back at her, she’s gone.

========

Ryan’s friends are assholes, but thankfully they’re Michael’s kind of assholes.

Idiots who should really know better than to go messing around with things they don’t understand, but what the fuck does Michael know, right?

Gavin and Jeremy tend to stick together when they can. Gavin handling the majority of the camerawork with Jeremy not so subtly flexing his muscles at him as he carts around camera gear and other equipment like a pack mule.

He gets this little smile on his face as Gavin tells Jeremy what he’s doing and why when he sets the cameras up. All intent and this, hanging off his every word.

And _Gavin_. Idiot keeps darting little looks at Jeremy, and it’s kind of hilarious watching the two of them dance around each other.

Geoff and Jack have set up in a room off the dining room. Turned it into small command center with cables running everywhere as they plan out their week here. Where the ghost hotspots are, establishing shots and other shit Michael doesn’t even bother trying to understand while Ryan troubleshoots _everything_.

Runs all over the damn place whenever someone hits a snag, or their gear goes on the fritz. He looks a little harried when their paths cross, but the annoyed grumbling doesn’t seem to go anywhere, and the others take it in stride.

Lindsay, though.

Goddamn, Michael doesn’t even know where to start with her. 

Terrifying, would be good, because she keeps finding reasons to send Gavin and Jeremy off somewhere together. Off to town for that scenic little drive, just the two of them, or into the woods to film scenes for the dramatizations they do. 

This little glint in her eye that has Michael staying the hell away from her because she keeps giving him these thoughtful little looks, and he wants exactly none of that.

Not when he keeps bumping into Ryan, and Michael’s dumb heart does this little flip whenever he laughs at Michael’s shitty jokes. 

When he so much as breathes, really, but that could be the history of heart trouble in Michael’s family. (In which case he’d vastly prefer that to facing up to the fact he has a goddamned crush on the asshole.)

His dumb heart aside, he likes them because they keep to the few rules Michael set out for them. The ones meant to keep them safe while they’re out here.

It’s easy to get lost in the woods around here, and he doesn't trust them to be able to find their way back.

The caves at the edge of the forest aren’t safe, so of course local kids get lost in them all the time. Lose their bearings and get turned around, and again, Michael doesn’t trust these idiots out there. Tells them if they want to explore the damn things to head into town and hire a guide

A few rickety bridges over the winding river that cuts through the mountains and weaves through the forest that the county’s promises to get around to fixing one of these days.

It’s surprisingly refreshing not to have to call into town to get a crew out here to rescue them from themselves,

Michael appreciates the fact that he hasn’t needed to call emergency services to rescue them from themselves because the paperwork involved is a goddamned nightmare.

========

Caroline likes to sit on the porch swing in the mornings to watch the sunrise.

She looks like she’s in her twenties, hair twisted into a messy bun and wears a pioneer dress. There’s something sad about her, the way she watches the other ghosts, like she’s looking for someone. Hoping they’ll show up here one day.

Michael joins her sometimes, sits on the other end of the swing and gives it a little push to get it started. When Caroline’s having a good day, she keeps it moving.

Today seems to be one of those days, this slight curve to her mouth when he slides a look at her.

Michael’s got a Red Bull because he didn’t sleep well the night before and it made more sense to his sleep-deprived brain than coffee.

Some kind of brain-addled logic in there, but when the ghosts are excited at the chance to fuck with a new batch of ghost hunters it gets noisy. 

Or.

Not noisy, just. 

Chaotic?

The careless ones slipping into his dreams. Emotions bleeding over and Michael’s mind unable to filter their thoughts and emotions from his. Everything getting jumbled together until he’d woken up feeling this heartrending despair that no one visited his grave anymore before his brain had kicked back in.

So.

Yeah.

It’ll calm down in a day or two after the ghosts get used to Ryan and his friends being here.

Caroline twists around when the front door opens. Slight frown on her face as she looks at whoever came outside before her form flickers and she disappears.

Shy as fuck, Caroline. 

Took over a month before she showed herself to him, and even longer before she told him her name. Showed up in his dreams, pretty, young thing with sandy blonde hair and warm brown eyes and this voice he can’t quite remember no matter how hard he tries

Sweet and shy and sad and she’s one of his favorites.

“Oh,” he hears, and turns to see Ryan hovering behind him, looking surprised to find him out here. “I didn't expect to see anyone up this early.”

The rest of Ryan’s groups is still asleep. They had a long night of it hunting for signs of the ghosts rumored to haunt the place, completely unaware of the curious audience they’d attracted with their ridiculous antics.

Someone has to set the food out for everyone, get the coffee brewing, and since this is Michael’s place? Makes sense it would be him.

Still, Ryan’s a decent guy, and Michael’s not a complete asshole.

“You can join me if you want,” he offers. “I don’t bite.”

Ryan gives him an odd look, and a moment later takes a seat on the swing beside him. Takes in the scenery, colors bleeding into the world as the sun climbs over the mountains.

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, lingering tension from Michael’s dreams fading as he revels in what his senses are telling him. Little things that help ground him in the here and now.

Cool breeze brushing his cheek. The slight motion of the swing and it rocks gently, sounds of the others starting to move around inside the house. Ryan’s solid presence beside him and the warmth of his body heat, sound of his breathing.

“So,” Ryan says, wry twist to his lips like he knows he’s not smooth. “How’d you end up out here?”

As far as opening gambits go, Michael’s heard worse.

From what he’s seen, Ryan’s a giant dork. The way his friends treat him – good-natured teasing, and amused little grins at his reactions when they mess with him help confirm that assessment.

That, and he’s just. 

Dorky.

This quality Michael can’t put into words, one of those things you just _know_.

Michael shrugs, clutching his Red Bull like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. (Which is funny, because it tastes like shit, but it’s also infusing him with precious caffeine, so.)

“Hell if I know,” Michael says, and shrugs at the look Ryan gives him. “I was working as an electrician back in Jersey, and then my grandmother left me this place when she died.”

There’s a bit more to the story, things related to his ability to see ghosties and ghoulies and a promise he made when was a kid too dumb to know better. That fucking ghost cat rubbing up against his fingers, and his grandmother shaking her head, fond little smile on her face.

But it’s not like Michael can tell him that, not with his family history and the way he gets weird looks for living out here on his own as it is. (Like there aren’t people through here all the time anyway looking for a place to rest before going on their way.)

“I came out here to settle the paperwork and just never left.”

Ryan slides a look at him like he knows Michael isn’t giving him the full explanation, but thankfully doesn’t press him on it.

“You don’t strike me as a loner,” he says, because the place is pretty isolated. 

The closest town is five or so miles to the east, and the nearest city of any size is an easy twenty or so past that.

Lot of forests and mountains and a scattering of rivers and lakes in between that’s a far cry from his life prior to this. (Michael’s first year here was certainly an _experience_ , that’s for damn sure.)

Michael shrugs because he’s not, really. 

But there are people through here all the time and the ghosts are always there. Like to poke their heads into his business, and generally make nuisances of themselves. 

“Well, I mean,” Michael says, grins at the hint of color on Ryan’s cheeks as he imitates him. “There’s this thing called the internet these days. Lets me stay in contact with my friends and family, and phones are pretty great too. Also, cars and airplanes exist, which is also pretty neat.”

Ryan laughs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’d forgotten Michael isn’t living in some Victorian novel out here. Has high-speed internet and all the shiny things people tend to have in their fancy cities.

“Right, okay,” he mumbles, something endearing about it. “Forget I said anything.”

Michael shrugs and goes back to watching the sunrise and doesn’t think about how nice it is to share it with someone with a heartbeat for once.

========

Michael leaves Ryan and his buddies alone for the most part. Lets them shoot footage in the attic and down in the cellar basement. Points them towards the old hunting shack in the woods a quarter mile away where local legend says jealous suit murdered a young couple after following them there.

Laughs a little at the exited looks it gets him from some of them, the wide-eyed dread from the others.

Ryan shoots him a look, and Michael shrugs because as far as he knows no one’s been murdered out here. Just kids with their campfire stories that spun out of control over time, gained a life of their own.

“Be careful out there,” Michael warns. “Bears and all.”

Gavin squawks at that, hand gripping the sleeve of Jeremy’s jacket.

“ _Bears_?”

Michael’s chuckle might be a little bit mean as he pretends to think about it. He likes these idiots, doesn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t give them a hard time while they’re here.

“Mountain lions, too.”

There have been sightings of both in recent years, but they tend to stick to places up north. Better hunting grounds and the like. 

Less people to bother them, too.

Ryan rolls his eyes and goes over to help them pack up their gear for the trek out to the shack.

“You’re terrible,” he says, but there’s amusement in his voice and something like a smile on his face, so Michael doesn’t take it personally.

========

The week goes by fast, Ryan and his friends excited about the little blurs and blobs they catch on camera. The so-called conversations they have using that dumb little gadget.

Cold spots they run into in the attic and down in the cellar because the ghosts like to play games with people like them. Have their fun where they can, and always careful not to go to far with things.

If the ghost hunters are respectful – not necessarily polite because a fair amount of the ghosts around the place are assholes, but _respectful_ – they’ll give them little things like that. 

Use up some of their energy to manifest themselves more fully. Knock something over, become visible. Follow along behind them and place a hand on their skin to give them a chill.

All the things ghost hunting shows claim to have seen and experienced and he loves the way they seem so damn delighted with all of it.

“So you guys got what you wanted, huh.”

Ryan nods, sweet little smile on his face as he shows Michael footage they filmed in the second floor bathroom. 

Claire’s favorite spot in the house because it has the best acoustics in the place and she was a singer.

“It’s amazing,” he says, pointing out the faint blur that could be anything, but Michael can see the long, flowing hair and sundress Claire prefers. “Clearest footage we’ve ever gotten.”

Michael hums, wondering if the other locations they’ve visited were actually haunted or just wishful thinking on their part.

“How’d you get caught up in all this anyway?” Michael asks.

Ryan doesn’t seem the type to believe in ghosts and the like. 

Too pragmatic.

But, he’s here now. Has been gallivanting around the country with them for a while now, and doesn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon.

Ryan shrugs, pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair before setting it back on his head.

“Hell if I know,” he says, giving Michael a crooked little grin. “I didn’t really believe in it much when I was a kid. My grandmother loved telling us kids ghost stories and it all seemed pretty impossible? But I got an apartment in college in this old building, probably built a hundred years ago or so, and things just...happened. Things I couldn’t find logical explanations for. Enough that I got curious, did some reading.”

There’s more to it than that, Michael can tell, but he lets it slide the way Ryan did with his half-assed explanation before.

“And then you ran into these guys,” Michael says, gesturing to where the others are huddled around the kitchen table going over footage and what they plan to do for their last few days here.

Ryan smiles, soft and stupidly fond of his friends. A motley bunch to be sure, loud and raucous and more than just a bunch of people who happen to work together from the way they act. 

“Hey,” Ryan says, fidgeting with the tablet he’s holding, like he’s struggling to say something but can’t fine the words. Ends up settling for an awkward smile instead. “Uh, thanks for letting us film here.”

Michael glances at Ryan, and feels himself smile because it’s not like it was a hardship, really.

Of all the idiots who’ve come here looking to find ghosts, Ryan and the others have been the least annoying by far.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” he says. “I hope your fans like the episode.”

========

Lindsay catches him in the kitchen the morning they’re slated to leave.

This little smile on her face as she pours herself a mug of coffee and _watches_ him.

“You need something?”

Lindsay’s smile widens as she takes a sip of her coffee. Dainty as all hell, and she never breaks eye-contact, which.

Terrifying.

Absolutely terrifying.

“Alright,” Michael says, slowly, as he tries to make it look like he’s not fleeing the room. “Enjoy your coffee.”

He bumps into Ryan in the doorway. Feels hands on his arm, his shoulder, when he stumbles, and a very solid chest pressed against his before they separate. (Hears Lindsay fucking laughing somewhere behind him.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Ryan’s babbling, cheeks flushed s he belatedly lets go of Michael. “I’m like a zombie in the morning.”

“Uh,” Michael says, flailing for a response. “Same.”

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Lindsay is full-on _cackling_ now, and Michael is dying of mortification.

Ignores the flickers at the edge of his vision as curious ghosts poke their heads in to see what the ruckus is all about.

“What?” Ryan asks, confused little laugh in there.

Michael shakes his head and holds up his mug of coffee as explanation.

Ryan laughs again, this adorably dorky thing Michael likes way too damn much.

“Yeah,” Michael says, because words are still hard. “I’ve uh. Things to do?”

And then he flees, Lindsay’s demented cackling in his ears, and Ryan’s smile on his mind and stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

========

“So, uh,” Ryan says, sidling up to Michael. “This is probably kind out of the blue and everything? But.”

Michael looks up from his phone and smiles at the idiot. He looks like nervous as hell, fidgeting with his hat and looking hunted.

It’s been a few hours since they did that little dance in the kitchen, and Ryan and the others are are all packed up. Ready to head to their next destination before going back home to edit everything together for their upcoming season.

He can hear the others yelling to each other to make sure they haven’t left anything behind, last-second checks and general bickering.

“Hey,” Michael says, “everything okay?”

Ryan doesn’t quite wince, his face just does this _thing_.

Ryan looks around, like he’s checking to make sure they aren’t being watched and looks back at Michael. 

“Lindsay,” Ryan says, and bites his lip. “Uh. Lindsay told me to get my shit together, so.”

Michael doesn’t know her that well, but she does seem like the kind of person who’d say something like that.

“Okay?” Michael says, and Ryan’s nervousness must be catching because Michael’s heart is doing all kinds of things in his chest and he feels like more of an idiot than he usually does.

Ryan sighs, and hands Michael a business card.

“Uh...”

A _business card_.

Not exactly what he was expecting given how nervous Ryan is, but it’s not like he know the guy all that well.

“I figured,” Ryan says, awkward little smile on his face. “It would be a bit presumptuous of me to just come out and ask for your number, so.”

Ryan’s cheeks are this fascinating pink quickly shading to red as Michael stares at him.

“My cell number is on there,” Ryan says, hopeful lilt to his voice at the end, eyebrows going up in the world’s least subtle hint because apparently he didn’t quite succeed at getting his shit in order.

Michael laughs, because the two of them are idiots, aren’t they?

“What a coincidence,” he says, before Ryan can take Michael laughing in his face as a bad sign. He holds up his phone. “I was trying to work up the courage to ask you for yours.”

Wrestling with the notion that they were barely more than strangers at this point. that Ryan wouldn’t be interested in keeping a long distance relationship going for someone he’d just met. Trying to convince him he should try anyway because he like Ryan a whole hell of a lot.

Ryan looks gobsmacked. 

“What?”

Michael rolls his eyes and makes a show of entering putting Ryan’s number in his phone, and feeling a little stupidly reckless snaps a picture of him to use as a contact picture.

It’s fucking terrible, Ryan still looking utterly bewildered and confused by this turn of events, and Michael loves it.

“God, that’s awful,” Michael says, and shows Ryan so he can see for himself. “You look like an idiot.”

Ryan shoots Michael a wounded look.

“Hey,” he says, this note to his voice like he can’t believe Michael didn’t shut him down or punch him in the face for hitting on him in the middle of nowhere.

Michael grins at him, and his dumb heart does this little somersault when Ryan smiles back, all soft and shy and sweet and goddamn, they’re so dumb.

“I don’t have a business card to give you,” Michael says, because who the fuck does that? “So I hope this is acceptable.”

Ryan looks confused, but Michael’s already typing on his phone. A moment later Ryan’s phone goes off with a new message notification.

“Nice,” Ryan says, when he checks it, because it’s a happy little smiley face, because Michael likes to stick with the classics and all in these kinds of situations. (Or maybe he didn’t want to start things off by sending Ryan an emoji flipping him the bird. Doesn’t want to send mixed signals.)

Someone starts honking the horn of that van they rented, and Ryan groans because it’s a _pattern_. Sounds vaguely like a top fifty hit from a few years ago and it’s an amazing display of skill.

“Wow,” Michael says, and very carefully does _not_ laugh at Ryan’s suffering.

“Yeah,” he sighs, reluctant smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah.”

Rather than stare at each other awkwardly, Michael gets to his feet and walks Ryan to the driveway. Grins at the enthusiastic greeting the two of them get. Ryan’s friends laughing and cheering when they realize he hasn’t been brutally rejected, and the ghosts - 

There’s a small crowd of them lined up by the edge of the driveway watching them.

All of them seem amused, this faint sound of laughter the air when they see how close Michael and Ryan are standing.

“Guess this is goodbye,” Ryan says, and like the idiot he is holds his hand out like he expects Michael to shake it.

Michael rolls his eyes and pulls him in for a hug, figures it’s not going to offend Ryan’s delicate sensibilities or give his asshole friends too much ammunition to use against him.

“Call me you fuck,” Michael tells him, and tightens his arms around him when he feels Ryan’s laughter rumbling through his chest.

========

The two of them talk a couple of times a week to start with. After a little troubleshooting on his end Michael gets his webcam sorted out and they add Skyping to their routine.

That turns out to be the worst because there’s a slight time difference, and Ryan usually Skypes him before bed. Looks all soft and sleepy in worn t-shirts, hair a mess and this dopey little smile when he sees Michael.

It’s.

Not a normal relationship they’re working on here, but it’s nice.

Really fucking nice, especially when Ryan texts him random shit if he thinks Michael will appreciate it or calls when he just misses Michael’s voice. (Michael returning the favor there are hundreds of miles between them, and the house gets lonely even with the ghosts and occasional guests for company.)

A few months after Ryan and his buddies came out to film, the episode goes up on YouTube and Michael watches it with Ryan being a nervous Nellie in the Skype window. 

Worried Michael's going to offended at something they did, hate him forever or some shit.

But, you know, he doesn’t because it’s fucking good. Their theories about some of the ghosts are completely wrong. Tend towards Hollywood melodrama because that’s what people have come to expect with their ghost stories, murder and intrigue and crimes of passion. Overlook the small tragedies of life, bad luck and unfortunate circumstances and what loneliness can do to someone.

Still, their version of events make for good stories and are sure to get them more views which will be good for them. (It’s not like the ghosts are going to begrudge them that.)

The segments where they interview him about the house’s history paint him in a favorable light. Somehow manage _not_ to make him look like he’s a raging asshole, which has got to be some kind of miracle.

“Did you like it?” Ryan asks, fretting over Michael's reaction.

“Eh,” Michael says, like he’s not going to send links to his family to watch. Isn’t going to set up a viewing for the ghosts, cobble something together they can watch without frying anything because they're definitely going to get a kick out of it. “It’s not terrible.”

Ryan sighs, so very put upon, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his mouth and his body language is all relief.

“It’s great you idiot,” Michael tells him, and it’s not being biased on his part.

The comments are mostly favorable so far, and sure, there will be the usual assholes, but no one listens to them anyway, so who the fuck cares what they have to say? ( _That_ is Michael being biased, but really Fuck off with that shit.)

Ryan clears his throat, this thing he tends to do when he’s about to go all bashful, awkward dork on Michael.

“Uh,” Ryan says, and he’s fussing with his webcam, making these teeny, tiny adjustments like it’s out of focus when it absolutely is _not_. “So. We’ve got this season wrapped up.”

Michael nods, because Ryan’s been keeping him updated on that in between everything else. 

“And,” Ryan continues. “We get a break before we start working on the next season. I just need to see to some shit here and then, you know.”

Michael has a feeling he does know, dumb heart sitting up and taking notice in case it needs to engage in thrilling acrobatics bullshit again.

“Ryan?”

Ryan’s giving him this _look_ , like words are hard and he’s shit at them, but Michael knows fucking well what he’s trying to say here.

“I mean,” Michael says, fighting a smile. “I don’t usually take reservations like this, but I guess I can make an exception just this once.”

Ryan snorts, and Michael's smile breaks free.

“How kind of you,” Ryan says, stupid smile on his face. “I’d appreciate it if you would. I was thinking a week, maybe longer.”

That sounds doable. (Sounds goddamned incredible, honestly.)

“Hey, no problem,” Michael says, just to see the exasperation on Ryan’s face, that little sigh he does when Michael’s giving him shit.

“You’re the worst,” Ryan says, sounding like he means the opposite, which is a mutual thing, really.

Still, Michael can’t let that one go, can he.

“Yeah? Big man telling me that over a Skype call,” Michael says, can’t seem to stop the laughter leaking into his voice. “Too chicken to say it to me in person?” 

Ryan opens his mouth for a retort, and blinks when he realizes he _can_ , when he gets out here. 

“Holy shit,” Ryan says, laughing like an idiot. “I’m going to?”

Least effective threat Michael's ever heard, but this is Ryan he’s talking about, so.

“Yeah,” Michael says, so damn fond of this idiot. “You really are.”

A little bit longer and they’ll get to see each other again in person. No crappy phone reception, no laggy internet connection. Just the two of them and this house with all its ghosts and whatever guests decide they need a vacation right then.

Super romantic and all, and Michael cannot fucking wait.


End file.
